With All Due Respect
by Sparkly Palm Tree
Summary: Richard "Dick" Grayson is 9 when the war starts. He's 13 when he gets the idea to enlist. He's 16 when he lies about his age to get drafted, and more importantly, 16 when he meets his commanding officer Bruce Wayne. (Military, WW2, AU)
1. Prologue

_Hahahahaha everything I know about the military comes from Captain America soooo apologies for the indescrepanicies_

 _set in either WW1 or WW2... WW1.5 I guess? Probably more like 2 I guess tho._

 _*thirties slang for ill be seeing you *pally:chum, buddy_

 _oKay I'm too excited to use 30s slang there's a lot in here_

* * *

Dick was thirteen when he had the idea to go off to war.

It was when Roy had first left _Haly's Home for Boys_ that the overseas battles had become real.

That the headlines on the papers had become something more than ink.

"Abasynnia*!" The red-head had called, wishing Pop Haly well, and telling Kal to take care of them, and for Wally to lay off the booshwashing. Roy had tucked Dick into a hug before that, shoving his favorite yellow hat down on Dick's head.

"Be real good for me, pally*," the older boy had said. "We both know you're the _real_ one in charge."

Roy was like his older brother, he'd taken Dick under his wing when he'd first been thrown into the orphanage at nine.

After that, Kaldur had been sent off with the papers, and then, just two years later, Wally had left, leaving Dick with the new kid Conner who only had a year left in him before he'd be drafted.

That year went by quickly.

Dick was sixteen when he first put his plan into motion.

He knew he was weak and as skinny as a rail, but he was flexible like no other, and he remembered way back, being able to do somersaults in air. And honestly? The army was desperate. They'd take what they could get.

They didn't even double check his falsified records.

The red headed man at the desk, old, weathered, and with a handle-bar mustache, just told him to get on the scale.

 _100 pounds._

The man - had he heard someone call him Gordon? - frowned at him, looking over his bony body worryingly. He took a pen, marking off where Dick hit on the height chart.

Dick gave him a hopeful look.

"I don't know kid."

But five minutes later, he had his papers.

He would be deployed in a month. He skipped back to the orphanage.

That would be the day.


	2. Chapter 1

So last chap wasn't even 400 words, and I got 6 reviews in like a day! You guys ROCK!

um using a lot of 30s slang again. Jap was what they called the japanese, and assuming this is in WW2 they would have been against America, which is where this is set soooo

this chapter is very choppy, but dont worrying the rest won't be like this

* * *

Bruce wasn't having a good day.

That said, he rarely did.

His new recruits were set to arrive within the hour. He wasn't _supposed_ to be training them, but with the failure of his last mission and his recurring leg injury, he'd been demoted by the General Alfred.

He'd refused to kill a Jap - who looked just out of his teens - in cold blood, and as a result, his cohort had been captured and tortured.

They still hadn't found Roy Harper.

x

Boys. All of them.

The oldest of his trainees was maybe twenty seven.

Bruce couldn't help but notice that they all looked old behind their years too.

Except for one dark haired boy - smaller than the others, who was literally bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

Normally, Bruce would have found the motion irritating, but amongst the sea of solemnity, it was a welcome break. The boy's enthusiasm was almost palpable.

"Private," Bruce barked, marching over to get a good look at him, "what are you doing?"

The child - that's all he was really, definitely not 18 - smiled up at him brightly, shockingly blue eyes crinkled. "Just excited, sir."

He had to conceal a smile at that. The boy was probably the only one remotely happy to be there, the rest had likely been drafted. "What's your name, private?"

"Grayson, sir. Dick Grayson. It's a _real_ honor to meet you sir, I've heard loads about you from my-"

Bruce gave him a hard look. As refreshing as his overzealousness was, professionalism had to be enforced. This was war.

Marching back to the front of the bunker, Bruce clasped his hands together.

" _I_ ," he began threateningly, "am Seargent Bruce Wayne. I will be your commanding officer, I will be a trainer, a teacher, a mentor, a leader. I will not be your friend, and certainly not," he added, judging their young faces, "a father."

They all stared at him, silent and wide eyed.

" _Understood_?" Bruce demanded.

Nearly all of them stumbled in saluting and saying, "Yes, sir." Bruce couldn't help but notice that the Grayson boy hadn't, instead taking the command with effortless grace and falling perfectly into position.

"Tomorrow, I expect you all to be awake and alert at 0600 hours. I suggest getting acquainted and then getting some rest," Bruce paused ominously. "You're going to need it."

With that, he spun on his heel, making his way back to his personal bunks, what Commander Ra's had christened 'Wayne Manor'.

x

0600 hours came too early for even Bruce's liking.

But he disliked _how_ it came even more.

"Hello, Seargent," a voice called cheerily.

"Damn it, Clark," he grumbled, turning over in his cot.

He could _hear_ Clark's grin. "It's like you aren't happy to be training recruits again!"

"I'm not, Kent, now get the he-"

"I mean," the man continued, "you're the best at it."

"Noted. Get out."

"Bruce, if you don't get up now, I'll start listing everyone you're training."

" _No_."

The alien - that's what he had to be, to withstand all the idiocy and wake up this early a sighed. Bruce heard paper rustling and a clipboard snap. "In order of enlistment - Jason Todd, Jack Kelley, David Zavimbe, Joey Wilson - oh, you've got one of _Slade's_ boys, J. B. Barnes, Victor Stone, Richard Grayson, Colin Wilkes - have I convinced you to get up yet?"

"Kent, you're a reporter - "

"My official title is 'war correspondent'."

" - so how did you convince (who is it taking care of data, Edward Nygma?) to give you access to military information?"

Bruce felt hands rip away his thin covers. He forced his eyes open, watching the broad figure of the bespectacled man glare down at him.

It was 6 in the morning and Bruce was already having a bad day.

Again.


End file.
